Stagnation
by Books In the Blood
Summary: Sherlock has a brilliant mind that craves stimulation and problems. But when he doesn't have a case for several weeks his mind begins to fall into stagnation. His behavior becomes alarming and John is afraid Sherlock may fall into his old methods for mind stimulation. Can he help Sherlock find another way to keep busy until he gets a case? Rated T for drug references.
1. Chapter 1

**Okay this story is a new idea to me and I'm still developing it, so please review and give suggestions and such.**

John awoke to a loud pounding sound coming from the living room. When he opened his eyes the amount of light pouring into his room told him that it was too early to be awake. John glanced at the clock beside his bed and saw the bright red numbers 6:43. Yes, entirely too early to be awake.

John rolled over and stared at the window for a second. He was awake and that infernal pounding was going to make it impossible to go back to sleep but that didn't mean that he couldn't lay here for a second. The soft pink light outside the window barely made it through the small crack in his curtains but he could tell the sun was just beginning to rise. His eyes burned and he felt irritation that he was awake. He'd been up late because of Sherlock and now he was awake early because of Sherlock. Lately, taking care of Sherlock was becoming like taking care of a child. He was becoming more irrational, unpredictable and strange. John was annoyed but more than that he was honestly worried. He wasn't sure how much this was going to escalate before something bad happened.

After about five minutes John decided that it was time to face the music, or rather the noise, and get out of bed. He rubbed his tried eyes and got out of bed. His bare feet were cold on the floor and he put a pair of slippers and a dressing gown on- Sherlock had obviously been messing with the temperature _again _– before opening his bedroom door. He walked into the living, the sound of the thumping getting increasing louder until he was standing in the living room.

"What are you doing now?" John asked exasperated.

Sherlock was at the book case, or rather, standing on the bookcase shelf, holding on with one hand and with the other hand he was pulling books off the shelf and throwing them on to the ground where they landed with a loud crash. He'd obviously been at it for a while because there was huge pile sitting on the ground. "Looking" was all he said,

"Well, that's obvious" John said, irritated as he crossed his arms. " What are you looking for exactly?"

"Not sure" Sherlock said as he continued to rip books from the shelf.

"How can you be looking for something if you don't even know what it is?" John asked.

"Bored…." Sherlock muttered.

"Well, that's obvious as well" John muttered angrily. He was getting sick of this. Of course Sherlock was bored, so was he but that was no reason to be tearing up the living room before it was even 7 am.

"Want something to read but all these books are so….._dulllllll" _he dragged the word out for emphasis.

"Sherlock, really, get down from there" John said. "If all these books are so boring why not go buy yourself a new book?"

Sherlock pulled the last book off the shelf and tossed it onto the floor. "Dull…." He said before leaping off the bookcase and landing on his feet with the agility of a cat. He didn't seem to notice the pile of books he had left, or rather or he ignored it, before plopping himself onto the couch like a pouting child. "Don't feel like going anywhere"

John sighed deeply. This was ridiculous, truly ridiculous. John was really beginning to feel like he was living with a two year old. "So, you don't feel like going anywhere or doing anything, but you can tear all the books off the bookshelf at 6:30 and wake me up for nothing?" he didn't try to hide his irritation.

Sherlock didn't answer and John sighed as he sat down in his chair. It had been difficult lately. It was coming on three weeks- the longest three weeks of his life- since he and Sherlock had had a case. Without a case Sherlock was _bored _and a bored Sherlock was not a good thing. Sherlock couldn't stand to be still, to not have mental stimulation. Really, he couldn't stand it. John didn't want to think about what could happen if Sherlock didn't find something to do soon. John knew all too well what method he had used in the past to give him mental stimulation when he had no other means…..

"Go make us some tea" Sherlock said off -handily from the couch.

"What?" John asked.

"You heard me….go make us tea" Sherlock said.

"I don't want any" John said.

"Well, then go make me some" Sherlock said.

"You want some tea, make it yourself. I'm not your bloody slave" John said, biting back as much irritation as he could but not managing to get rid of it all.

"Really?" Sherlock asked in that superior, arrogant way he had about him.

That was it. John felt his anger rising and rather than say something horrible he walked out of the room. He went to the bathroom and shut the door loudly behind him, locking it. He took deep breathes and looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. His face was red and he felt like breaking something. The sun wasn't even up yet and he and Sherlock had already gotten into it. He was trying to be patient with Sherlock but when he said things like this he couldn't help it. Sherlock could just be such a git sometimes. Though if John was honest with himself he was really mad because there was some truth to it. He was kind of Sherlock's slave, or at least he felt like it sometimes. Who else would put up with so much of his crap?

The past three weeks had gone from bad to horrible. There had been gaps in their employment before but things had never lasted this long or escalated this quickly. Sherlock had gotten restless quickly and his behavior had gotten more irritating and bizarre very quick. At this point he wasn't even doing traditional experiments anymore, he often wake John at all hours with loud and bizarre behavior like throwing random objects at the wall to see which one of them made the biggest dent. He didn't play his violin much anymore and when he did it was loud, quick, harsh melodies that were very taxing on the ears. He talked less and less and now it seemed that everything that he said to John was mean or cruel. John was trying to be patient with him because he really wanted him to be happy again, but at the same time he was getting tired of taking the abuse. John suggested things to keep him busy of which Sherlock never took his suggestions. It seemed that Sherlock was even ignoring personal care which was alarming to John; John was fairly sure that Sherlock was in the same pajamas and dressing gown that he'd had on for three days now. He wasn't sure when he ate last.

John got his phone out of his dressing gown pocket and turned some music on as he stood in front of the mirror and shaved. He tried to get lost in the music and forget about Sherlock which he did for the most part, except for an annoying rustling sound he heard just barely through the music. John didn't even want to think about what Sherlock was doing now.

After he shaved, John began to run bathwater in the tub. The hot water began to steam up the bathroom and John was already beginning to feel a little bit more at ease. Maybe all he needed was a long, relaxing bath. He had just taken his pajamas off and was stepping into the bath when he heard the bathroom door rustle loudly. He had just enough time to place a towel around his waist before Sherlock came barreling through the door.

John cursed loudly. " Sherlock! What are you doing?!"

"I needed your phone" Sherlock said "Obviously"

Obviously? John looked at the screwdriver in Sherlock's hand and the doorknob that lay in pieces on the bathroom floor. Of course, Sherlock needed his phone, so obviously the answer was to take the doorknob off the door and help himself in. "Why didn't you just knock?" John asked annoyed. He felt very awkward standing here arguing with Sherlock in nothing but a towel.

"You had locked the door. It was apparent that you didn't want company" Sherlock said.

"So you just take the doorknob off the door?" John asked exasperated. " Of course, that's the answer! Does a locked bathroom door mean nothing to you? What if I'd been standing here naked?" he could feel his blood pressure raising.

"Oh please" Sherlock said, " Nothing I've not seen before. Can I have your phone?"

John felt his annoyance rise another ten points. He could think of no time Sherlock should have seen him naked. What did he do, spy on him whenever he felt like it? If he hadn't been so awkwardly naked now he might punch Sherlock in the face. Really, it was only a matter of time now with them locked in this house with nothing to do they were a powder keg ready to explode. "What's wrong with your phone?" he asked, suppressing all the nasty other remarks that came to his mind.

"Broken" Sherlock said, holding out his hand for John's phone.

"How'd you break it?" John asked.

Sherlock sighed and held out his hand like a spoiled child. He was becoming less and less verbal and it was annoying. "No" John said " You want my phone you tell me where yours is."

Sherlock rolled his eyes "Experiment" he said

John thought about prying for more, but at this point he really just wanted Sherlock out of the bathroom and to have some peace and quiet. "Fine" he said and gave Sherlock his phone. "Whatever you did to your phone, don't do it to mine"

"Just making a call, obviously" He said before turning and sweeping out of the room.

Obviously…..

John slammed the door shut and just for good measure, pulled the shower curtain around the tub before getting in. He sank into the warm water and tried to relax but he was so riled now that it was hard. John was getting so tired of Sherlock's attitude and being at each other's' throats constantly, but really he was genuinely worried. He had seen Sherlock spiral down this path before and it had ended in his horrible method of mental stimulation. John was trying to do all that he could to prevent that from happening again. He didn't think he could find Sherlock like that again…..

John sank down in the water so that his head was the only thing that stuck out of the water. He never thought he'd be hoping for a violent and puzzling murder to happen.

**Poor Sherlock and John, they are a train wreck about to happen! Will something pop up to keep them busy? If not, how will John help keep Sherlock busy?**


	2. Chapter 2

John didn't know how long he stayed in the tub, but it was only with reluctance that he emerged when the water had become too cold. It was nice to get away from Sherlock for a second and experience silence. It wasn't that Sherlock was a child that needed looking after, but that last time that John had went out without him a few days ago, he had almost caught the flat on fire. John had come home to see Sherlock in the kitchen with goggles on, staring at a mass of something lying on the table exploded and on fire. John had rushed over to the sink and hurriedly started filling up a bowl of water to throw on the fire. It wasn't until the fire had started to go out that Sherlock had snapped out of his daydreaming and asked John what he was doing. The dialog that had ensued was of course, an argument about how John ruined everything and how Sherlock was a lunatic. Of course that was all they did anymore, argue. He and John had always spent more time with each other than most people did since they were flat mates and worked together but John couldn't remember ever really being irritated by Sherlock. Sure they argued like anyone who did that lived together, but now they were downright sick of each other.

John put on his robe and came out of the bathroom drying his hair. It was quiet, had been quiet for much too long. John hadn't heard a sound since he had started his bath; with how Sherlock had been acting, silence wasn't a good thing.

John looked in the living room, Sherlock's bedroom and the kitchen and didn't find him. John walked toward his bedroom, dreading fining Sherlock in there as he had no business being in there. But, sure enough he found Sherlock in his bedroom; in fact in his own bed.

"Sherlock, what are you doing now?" John asked. He felt like he was saying this a lot these days.

Sherlock was curled up in a ball on John's bed, covered by an old worn quilt. A quilt that had been in John's closet, one he had had since he was a kid and Sherlock had no business getting it out of where it had been. He felt his nerves rising at the thought of Sherlock coming in his bedroom and rifling through his things- again.

In frustration John yanked the quilt off Sherlock and found the detective curled up under it, staring at John's phone. Sherlock turned toward John frowning. "I'm cold, put that back on!" he said angrily.

There were so many things wrong with this picture John did not know where to start. "Well, you might not want to have the window open when it's just barely over freezing outside for starters" John gestured to the open window in his room. "Or, better yet, use a different cover, leave the stuff in my closet alone. Or, ever better, stay out of my room!" John looked at the clock. It was a little before 9 am and they were at it yet _again. _

Sherlock stayed curled up and stared up at John. "You're angry?" he asked. He asked it like it was a question. John really wondered what went on his mind sometimes.

"Yes, I'm angry." John said. "You have no idea of personal space. Why are you in my room in the first place?"

"Wanted to lie down" Sherlock said distantly.

"Um, ok?" John said, " So, you have your own room, go there and lay down"

"I like yours better" Sherlock said matter- of- factley.

John didn't know why but this comment made him feel strange and felt his color change in his face and ears. He rubbed his hair roughly with the towel to cover this up. "Sherlock, there are boundaries, try to respect them" he said. He took the towel off his head and grabbed his phone off the bed.

"Oh, some girl called while you were trying to drown yourself in the bathroom" Sherlock said.

"Emily?" John asked.

"How should I know?" Sherlock asked. "Didn't ask her name. Seemed rather nasty, demanded to know why I had your phone. She was very short with me, and told me to tell you when you made time for her to give her a call back."

John sighed. John had seen it a million times and he was feeling it coming on though he was trying to prevent it. Ever since he had started living with Sherlock every relationship he had ended rather quickly. The women he dated initially thought his relationship with Sherlock was "touching" (whatever that meant) but eventually they got fed up with him cancelling on them or not calling them back because he was on a case or dealing somehow with Sherlock's needs. Eventually they would break up with him because they were tired of "competing" with Sherlock. It was annoying and John hated it, but every time the same thing happened. Emily had been getting increasingly annoyed with his unavailability lately and he could feel it was only a matter of time.

John sighed. "I'll deal with her later" he said tiredly. "And I wasn't trying to drown myself in the tub. Its called a bath and you might want to try it. When was the last time that you took a bath?"

"Don't want to" Sherlock said childishly, still remaining on John's bed despite the fact John made it obvious that he wanted him to get up.

"Well that's not really one of those things that you do because you want to all the time" John said, "Sometimes you just have to"

"Dull" Sherlock groaned. John sighed; it was like pulling teeth.

"Fine, whatever" John said, " Just wallow in your filth if you want to. You know though, you might feel better if you got a bath and got changed."

"What for?" Sherlock asked.

John had no answer for that.

John left Sherlock to do whatever it was he was planning to do curled up on his bed and went to try to occupy himself. He dressed and plopped into his chair, opening a book that he had started the day before. He had read a few chapters when he saw Sherlock out of the corner of his eye go to his own bedroom. It was blissfully quiet for about five seconds before Sherlock began to play the most depressing, agonizing tone on his violin John had ever heard.

"Okay, that's it" John said closing his book. He walked into Sherlock's bedroom and snatched the violin out of Sherlock's hands. Sherlock gave him a puzzled look. "What's wrong with you?" he asked.

"Get a shower, get dressed, we are going out somewhere" John said, taking all of his strength not to break Sherlock's violin who's music had just a second ago been akin to torcher.

"Why?" Sherlock asked.

"Because if we don't get out of this house and do something different I might have to kill you" John said.

For the first time in weeks, Sherlock gave John a small smile. "Well, you're entirely lovely to be around either" he said as he walked past John to the bathroom.

John had never seen Sherlock take longer to get ready than he did that morning but two hours later he and Sherlock were walking through the park. Despite the fact that day was cold it was beautifully sunny and bright. Because it was cold there wasn't many other people around the park and playground and it was pleasantly quiet and calm.

"Where are we going, John?" Sherlock asked as they walked through the park. As usual, Sherlock was barreling ahead of John like he had someplace to be, which he didn't.

"We are where we are going" John said. "We're just taking a walk around the park"

"Why?" Sherlock asked.

"Because it's relaxing" John said.

"I don't feel relaxed" Sherlock said. A few feet ahead there was a park bench and Sherlock threw himself down on it.

John jogged up ahead to catch up and sat down beside Sherlock. "Sherlock, what are you doing, we just got here?"

"This is stupid" Sherlock said. "We are walking around with no place to be"

"Yes, like I explained, it's supposed to be relaxing. Don't you ever do anything just for the fun of it?"

"This isn't _fun" _Sherlock whined "I want to go home"

"Why?" John asked beginning to get annoyed with Sherlock. "What do you really want to go back to the flat and do? There's nothing to do there but argue with each other."

"I just want to go" Sherlock said resolutely. John spotted a cart selling drinks and walked over to get a couple of coffees, glancing back at Sherlock every few seconds to make sure he didn't just take off. When he came back he held out a coffee cup for Sherlock. He pulled his coat closed around him and crossed his arms, turning away.

"Sherlock….." John sighed, sitting down tiredly. He began to sip his coffee as Sherlock sat pouting.

"I'm bored…." Sherlock said, "I want a case"

"I know you are" John said, "I'm bored too"

"Oh John, you'll be fine" Sherlock said, "Your mind is find where it is. My mind isn't. It cant stand stagnation. It craves problems, puzzles, novelty. I need something to challenge me or my mind will simply rot away"

"I'm doing everything I can" John said, "I call Lestrade pretty much every day. There hasn't been anything lately"

"Get me a case John!" Sherlock said irritably. John was a little bit distressed to see it; Sherlock almost acted desperate.

"I can't Sherlock!" John said exasperated " I'm trying but I can't make someone commit some elaborate murder!"

An elderly woman walking past at that moment stopped and gave John an alarming look. "Mind your own business" John snapped. The woman walked away, giving John a very annoyed look. Great, now he was lashing out at total strangers.

Sherlock held his arms around him and rocked back and forth in a very un-Sherlock way. "I'm sorry Sherlock" John said lowering his voice. "I'm trying to do everything I can to help you but I don't know what to do"

Sherlock continued to back and forth and John was finding this increasingly worrisome. It was easy to forget that behind Sherlock's brilliant mind was his Asperger's because he was so well adjusted. John had never really seen Sherlock act like this. Just once. "Just leave me alone" Sherlock said nastily.

"No" John said. "I can't do that"

"Why?" Sherlock said. "I want to you leave….that will help me. Leave"

John tried not to be hurt by Sherlock's hateful tone and remarks, knowing that deep down he didn't mean them. "I'm not leaving you Sherlock so just get over it" John said.

"Why?" Sherlock asked.

"Because I'm too worried about you" John said. He felt uncomfortable saying it, but it was the truth and he didn't know what else to say.

"Why are you worried about me?" Sherlock asked. "I'm an adult fully capable of taking care of myself" He seemed to realize that he was rocking and he stopped in an abrupt and awkward way to make a point.

"I know that Sherlock" John said, " I'm just worried you are acting like you did last time we didn't have a case for a while. I don't want that to happen again"

Sherlock didn't meet John's eyes. After a long time he said, "It stimulates my mind, it helps me" he said.

"It's a drug and its illegal" John said, "Not to mention that it could kill you"

Sherlock huffed like John was being ridiculous " You're being dramatic, doctor Watson" he said. "Morphine isn't the worst thing in the world."

"No" John said, "It isn't. Finding you passed out on the floor was the worst thing in the world."

**Get prepared for a flashback :) Please review**


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Really John? You're going to bring that up again?" he asked.

The way that Sherlock said it you'd think he was talking about forgetting to pick up milk from the store. " Um, yeah I'm bringing that up again" John said. " I have no idea that you even ever used drugs and I come home and there you are passed out on the floor!"

"I was not _passed out _" Sherlock said "How many times do we have to go over that? I told you, I was thinking, deeply thinking, and it took a while to rouse me from that"

"Yeah, sure" John said. "Whatever. Not even you think that deeply"

No matter how many times they discussed this, Sherlock always came back and said that John was overreacting to what had happened and John, rightly, said that he wasn't overreacting.

_It wasn't long after John and Sherlock had moved in together that John had discovered Sherlock's dug problem. They had been living together for a few months when their cases began to lag a little bit. John was still getting to know Sherlock and didn't see that his behavior was a little odd. At that point, everything Sherlock did seemed a little weird because he was still trying to figure him out. Sure he had noticed that Sherlock seemed a little more distant, a little more short with him, and yes he had noticed that Sherlock was doing things that even at this point John knew was weird even for him. But since Sherlock hadn't shared any of this information with John, he was totally unprepared. _

_John had been planning on going away for the weekend with his girlfriend at the time, _

_Jenna. John had backed his bags and had bid Sherlock farewell, leaving him deep in concentration on an experiment. John and Jenna had stopped at a restaurant for dinner before leaving but had gotten into an argument (John couldn't remember what it had been about, there seemed to be many similar events in his dating history) and had cancelled their weekend getaway. John had returned to the flat a few short hours later and found Sherlock had abandoned his experiment. John had found this strange as Sherlock never stopped in the middle of an experiment. _

_"Sherlock?!" John called out in the quiet flat. His voice echoed and there was no response. John noticed Sherlock's coat hanging on the chair in the kitchen and knew he wasn't out. John looked around and didn't find Sherlock in the kitchen or living room. John went to Sherlock's bedroom and knocked on the door. "Sherlock?" he called out. Sherlock didn't answer, which wasn't really abnormal for Sherlock, but John just had a sense that something was wrong. Maybe it his military experience or his medical experience but he had a knack for just knowing when something didn't _feel _right. And right now things didn't feel right at all. _

_John turned Sherlock's doorknob and found it unlocked. At first glance he didn't see Sherlock in his room either. It wasn't until he walked around Sherlock's bed that he found him, laying on the floor, eyes closed. Naturally alarmed, John rushed over to his friend and shook him. " Sherlock, Sherlock" John said shaking him. Sherlock didn't stir and John's medical instincts took over. John began to look Sherlock over but it wasn't long before he saw the reason for Sherlock's unresponsiveness. One of Sherlock's sleeves was pulled up and lying beside him was a hypodermic needle. Not knowing what to expect but expecting the worst, John began to shake Sherlock even harder. John's heart was beating out of his chest and even though he knew that it couldn't have been more than a minute, it felt like an eternity before Sherlock's eyes fluttered open and he stared up at John. "Thought you were out" Sherlock said casually, sitting up and fixing his sleeve. _

_"I was! What were you doing!?" John asked. Now that he knew Sherlock wasn't having an overdoes of….who knew what?...he was furious. _

_Sherlock stood " I guess that it didn't work out with Jenna?" he asked. " Sorry to say it, but I saw that one coming. Really, she wasn't right for you. Too needy and of a rather below than average intelligence." Sherlock strode out of the bedroom and walked into the living room leaving John stunned. He stood alone in Sherlock's bedroom frozen for a second before storming into the living room. He found Sherlock stretched out onto the couch, his fingertips together and starring out as if deep in thought. _

_"Um, hey! You want to tell me what the hell is going on here?" John asked, jumping into Sherlock's plane of vision. Sherlock didn't even move, though his eyes briefly fluttered toward John. _

_"Not really" Sherlock said calmly._

_"Okay, let me rephrase that then" John said, feeling his blood pressuring rising by the second. " tell me what the hell is going on, right now! I come home and find you passed out? Explain that to me"_

_Sherlock drummed his fingers together. " Oh, you're going to make an _issue _of this aren't you?" he asked. _

_"Um, yes! I am!" John said. " What the hell are you on?" _

_Sherlock stared straight ahead, right at John but as if not perceiving him. His eyes were glazed over and it was apparent that he was spaced out. John waved a hand in front of his eyes to no response. Losing what little bit of temper he had left he grabbed Sherlock by the front of his shirt and pulled him into a sitting position, throwing him back against the couch roughly. Sherlock snapped out of his "daydream" or whatever it was. "Calm down John" he said, smoothing out his shirt. _

_John took a few seconds to breathe deeply so that he wouldn't completely loose it and smack Sherlock in the face. "It's hard to be calm at a time like this" John said, " You're on _drugs! _That much is clear. Funny, how you never thought to mention this to your flat mate, the person that actually has to live with you! Might have been nice for you to mention that when we moved in! Or maybe, when Lestrade did that drugs bust on our flat" _

_"That was total rubbish and you know that" Sherlock said waving a hand " He did that because he was angry I was working on the cabbie case without consulting him." _

_"Yeah, I know that Lestrade didn't know any better" John said, " But still, you might have mentioned later, that hey, actually there was something to that, as I am actually addicted to drugs!" _

_Sherlock shook his head " John is that really what you think? That I'm an addict? Don't underestimate me" _

_"Well, what am I supposed to think?" John asked as he plopped himself down in his chair across from Sherlock. " You're on drugs , right?" _

_"I'm _not _an addict" Sherlock said with a dark look. " I use them simply for recreational purposes" _

_"Yes, as I'm sure every drug addict on earth would say as well" John said sarcastically. _

_Sherlock cursed a rare occurrence. " Stop it John. Give up your own preconceived notions and just listen to me" he said. " I don't do this to 'get by' or 'have fun' like other people do. It calms me, helps me think. My mind can't go long without problems. My mind rebels at stagnation! When there is no case, no work….that is stagnation. Give me problems, give me work and I flourish. Put me in the everyday, normal routine of life and I come to these artificial stimulations."_

_John thought for a moment before speaking up "So, you're telling me that you take drugs because you are bored?" he asked incredulously. _

_"That a very basic assumption, but essentially, yes" Sherlock said. _

_"Aren't you the least bit concerned?" John asked. _

_"About what?" Sherlock asked. _

_"About the damage these drugs could do to your body and mind!" John said. "I'm sure I don't have to lecture you on the effects of drugs" _

_"Possibly they could be damaging" Sherlock said "But the benefits outweigh the risk. The stimulation it gives me is invaluable"_

_"So, what is it? What do you use? How often? Do you just wait for the chance that I leave so you can shoot up?" John knew his voice sounded harsh but he didn't care. He was upset Sherlock had hid this from him but more than that he was upset that Sherlock was in this position at all. If he was using drugs he was in danger and John didn't like the idea that Sherlock was in danger. _

_Sherlock rolled his eyes "John, don't be barbaric" he said, " I didn't purposely hide this from you. I told you, I only crave this stimulation when there is no work. It's not often and I don't make a habit of it. Yes, I used to use it more in my youth but now I rarely do it. My work is stimulating and fulfilling enough that I don't need it often. Since we've been without a case…..I needed the relief it brought" _

_"So, you've been at this a long time?" John asked. "Tell me what you use….what are you on right now? If something should happen to you I'd like to know" _

_"Morphine" Sherlock said calmly. " Occasionally cocaine" _

_He made it all sound so normal and John didn't know what else to say. He was concerned but he didn't want Sherlock to know how worried he really was. But as usual with Sherlock, no words were needed. " Its unfortunate that you came back" Sherlock said "I knew you would worry and I tried to avoid that. I didn't want you to know; not because I was trying to be deceptive but because I knew you'd worry about my health. You don't need to worry about me" _

But of course, John did worry about Sherlock. Often. Sherlock never took care of himself, he needed someone to care about his wellbeing, especially at a time like this.

"I really don't want to discuss this" Sherlock said. He pulled his coat tightly around him and crossed arms.

"And I really don't want something to happen to you" John said. " Yes, sure, last time you were okay, technically. But I don't like it; its not healthy for your body or your mind even if it feels 'stimulating'"

Sherlock pouted like a child "You have nothing to worry about" he said. " I'm not going to do it. No matter how much I would _like _to. After the last time and Mycroft found out, he made sure he took care of everyone who had ever sold to me. I only buy from people I trust and even if I didn't, Mycroft's reach is unbelievably long."

John and Sherlock sat in silence for a long time. Birds chirped, distant sounds of people talking and laughing could be heard all around them. John wanted to be mad at Sherlock but he couldn't be. All he could feel was sympathy. " So, when was it you tried?" he asked.

Sherlock looked away. "None of your business" he said. "Wasn't successful so it doesn't matter. Mycroft was thorough"

John thought about Sherlock out on the streets trying to buy drugs off someone and the thought made him sad. He didn't know what to say but he knew from experience that it wouldn't do any good to try to prod Sherlock for details on the matter. Talking about the matter wasn't going to help Sherlock. Keeping him busy, getting him a case was the only thing that was going to help him.

John stood and put his hands into his coat pockets. Sherlock looked up at him from the bench. "What?" he asked.

"Well, I'm positively starving" John said, "Let's get some lunch"

A look of surprise came over Sherlock's face; it was obvious that he was surprised that John didn't nag him about his past drug attempt. But it was obvious by his slight smile that he was happy that he didn't. He got up and followed John down the path in the park.

On the way home John and Sherlock stopped at an Italian restaurant and though John had to push him, Sherlock eventually ordered an entrée that he actually ate about half of. They walked down the street causally in the nice weather; they didn't speak much but it was an easy silence. They weren't arguing and they weren't angry and this was a nice change from the past few weeks. John sensed that Sherlock respected that he didn't push him to talk.

It was mid- afternoon when they returned to the flat. John made pot of tea and brought it back to the living room. By the time that he returned, Sherlock was gone. His bedroom door was cracked and John looked in. Despite the fact that they had just returned home and it was early in the day, Sherlock was already in his pajamas and in bed. John was sure that it wasn't yet asleep but soon would be. Even though he hadn't had a case to keep him running, he still hadn't slept for the past couple of days.

John spent a quiet, rather boring day in the flat. It was too quiet without Sherlock and John found himself, both bored and tired from his early rising that morning, turning in early. Before John went to bed himself, he poked his head back into Sherlock's bedroom. He didn't know why he felt the need to check on him like a child but he did. And he didn't know why he lingered awhile in the doorway but he did.

The lamp on Sherlock's bedside was still on and it cast a light on Sherlock's face. He was sleeping peacefully and it appeared he hadn't moved since John had checked on him earlier. Sherlock's dark curls fell across his pillow and over his forehead. His face held a peace sleeping that it never held when he was awake that made him look much younger than he was. When he slept, he looked…..vulnerable. Like he needed someone to protect him. It was never something that was seen on his face while he was awake. While John looked at him, he noticed his eyes began to flutter under his eyelids, in a dreaming state. John suddenly felt that he invading Sherlock's privacy; he turned off the lamp and closed Sherlock's door behind him.

John went to his own room and got into bed. Despite his fatigue it took him a long time to fall asleep. For the second time that day he felt himself actually wishing for a crime to be committed so he could get Sherlock the only thing that he ever really wanted; a case.

**Aww, John worries about Sherlock. I love it :) Unfortunately John has a lot of reason to worry about Sherlock. Please review, let me know what you think! **


	4. Chapter 4

**Well, I had a lot of time this weekend, so here's another chapter. Cheers!**

John awoke the next morning and he was instantly aware of loud thumping noise coming from the living room. He wasn't surprised and yet he hated to think of what Sherlock could be doing now. Well, at least it wasn't going to be too quiet like it was yesterday.

John stretched as he sat up and looked at the clock. 8:27. Well, at least Sherlock had let him sleep a little longer than he had yesterday. John picked up his phone from the bedside table and considered calling Lestrade. He decided against it, as he knew Sherlock would be the first person Lestrade would call if there was a strange case come up. Since Sherlock was in the living room doing goodness knows what, it was obvious that he hadn't heard from Lestrade. Then again, he supposed that Sherlock still didn't have a phone since he'd "experimented" on his own.

John listened to the sound of rain pounding on the roof and went to the window, pulling back the curtains. It was a dismal, dark rainy day and John could feel his spirits being pulled down with the weather. He paused at the window and watched the rain fall for a while, avoiding Sherlock as long as he could. But eventually the curiosity got the better of him and he left his bedroom.

What he found in the living room shouldn't have surprised him, but somehow it did. Sherlock was hanging upside down from his chair, tossing kitchen knives across the room to the wall, where they were sticking into the wall. Mrs. Hudson was going to kill him.

"Sherlock!" John exclaimed, rushing over to Sherlock and snatching the remaining knives away from him. "Stop!"

"Bored….." Sherlock said tiredly. He didn't even look at John as he took away the knives and he didn't move from his upside down position. His face continued to turn redder and redder as all the blood rushed to his pale face.

John stood in front of Sherlock and crouched down so that he was closer to Sherlock's face. "I know you're bored but you can't tear up our house!" he said.

Sherlock didn't say anything; it seemed that today was going to be one of his quieter days. John walked over to the wall and pulled out the knives that were now lodged into it and returned them to the kitchen. John began to look around the kitchen for something to eat for breakfast but there were limited options in the cupboards and fridge. Just as he was considering that he needed to go to the store, Sherlock called from the living room, "We're out of milk. Go to the supermarket"

John slammed the door on the refrigerator and walked into the living room. "Why don't you go to the supermarket?" he asked.

"I hate supermarkets" Sherlock said.

"Well, I don't really care to go either, and I always go" John said. "I think it's your turn"

"I'm not going" Sherlock said. "too loud, too bright…..boring…."

"Boring?" John asked. "You're so bored you're throwing knives at the wall but you think the supermarket is too boring a place to go to?"

"Too many people….hate it" Sherlock said. John wanted to argue that Sherlock should get over it but he knew that Sherlock didn't do very well in crowded places and it wasn't really his fault.

John sighed. " Well, could you at least go with me?" he asked. He didn't think it was too much to ask.

Apparently it was. "Why?" he asked. "You're need for food will make you go to the supermarket within the hour. I , on the other hand, feel no immediate need to go. I can hear your stomach from all the way over here"

Sometimes he really hated Sherlock. "Fine" John huffed impatiently. "I'll go by myself"

John got dressed quickly and stormed out of the flat, leaving Sherlock still sitting upside down. John's umbrella was insufficient against the rain and he was quickly soaked. He had the entire time in the supermarket, which was way too cold with his wet clothes and today did seem to be filled with a much larger number of idiots , to grow increasingly angry at Sherlock. He was tired of being Sherlock's servant and slave. Just because Sherlock didn't like the supermarket gave him no reason he should not go. He must have went plenty of other times before he was living with John. But now that he had John it seemed that he could just make John do everything that he didn't want to do. Well, he was tired of it. And yet he thought, as he walked down the street toward the flat, useless outturned umbrella in one hand and bag of groceries in the other hand, he put up with it. Maybe Sherlock only did all this because John put up with it. Because when Sherlock said jump John said how high.

John was growing increasingly angry at Sherlock and had made up his mind to start a row with him about the subject when he stopped in his tracks outside of 221B. There was a fire truck parked outside and as he was walking in, two firemen were walking out. John's heart began to race and he ran as fast as he could into the flat. He burst into the door and threw the groceries down on the couch, searching for Sherlock through the smoke that now filled the flat. He was coughing and sputtering when he found Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson in the kitchen. Mrs. Hudson was bemoaning the state of the kitchen and Sherlock was sitting in one of the kitchen chairs, pouting. The kitchen table had been completely destroyed by fire and there was a large black stain on the ceiling as well, noting that the fire had been very large.

"What in the world is going on here!" John asked.

"Just trying to send the whole place up in flames is all!" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed. "Look at this! Now I've got to deal with the insurance company! Sherlock, you could have really been hurt, we all could have! What on earth were you thinking?!"

Sherlock, in his quiet pouty mood, didn't answer Mrs. Hudson. He folded his arms and turned away from her. "Yes, care to explain this Sherlock?" John asked, gesturing to the completely destroyed pile of rubble that had once been their kitchen table. "Can I not even leave you for half an hour by yourself? I'm dealing with a toddler here!"

"It was nothing!" Sherlock spat back at John angrily. " I was doing an experiment and the smoke alarm went off. Mrs. Hudson overreacted and called the fire department"

"Overreacted?" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed "I hardly overreacted!"

"Yeah I don't think she overreacted, Sherlock" John said. "The flames reached the ceiling! Not to mention they had time to completely dismantle the entire kitchen table! And apparently, they reached you as well!" John gestured to Sherlock's dressing gown which had been singed.

"Just shut up!" Sherlock shouted at John, showing a rare degree of anger. " I had everything under control, why does everyone keep trying to ruin everything I do? Like you the other day"

"Oh, you mean the other day when I come home to find _another _fire you had set?" John asked. "I left you for an hour and come home and find you staring at a mound of garbage on fire! How long would you have stared at it before I came along?"

"What!?" Mrs. Hudson shrieked "Another fire?"

"Now I can't even go to the store without you burning the house down?!" John shouted. "It's like living with a damn baby! I can't leave you unattended for five seconds and not have you burn something down or tear something up! You're being exhausting Sherlock! I can't even take a bath in peace these days! I-"

"Shut up!" Sherlock screamed at John, placing his hands on his head as if it was too much to take. "Just shut up, John! Cant everyone just leave me the hell alone!?"

It was rare to hear Sherlock curse and it was rare to hear Sherlock scream and get so angry. It should have unnerved John but at the moment he was too furious to care.

"No, everyone can't leave you alone Sherlock!" John said, "Look what happens when we do!"

But Sherlock was done listening. He had clamped his hands over his ears and hung his head. He was oblivious to everything around him. John was just done with it.

He turned around and went to his bedroom, leaving Sherlock with ears clamped and Mrs. Hudson looking on the verge of tears as she watched the boys. John went to his room and slammed the door as loud as he could. He gave the door a few good kicks, until his foot ached before slamming himself down on his bed.

He was so angry at Sherlock! How could he be so irresponsible? John wanted to be able to go out without having to worry about Sherlock was going to do next. Didn't he deserve that? Shouldn't he be able to have a girlfriend without Sherlock ruining it? Didn't he deserve to be able to go out on a date or to the pub without having to worry Sherlock was going to blow up the flat or do something stupid? Why couldn't he just take care of himself? Why couldn't he just be normal?!

John had been so mad, or so he thought. His anger faded away until he was just upset. And really, that was what it had been all along. He hadn't really been mad at Sherlock he was upset, not at Sherlock, but for him.

Sherlock couldn't be normal. He wasn't normal. That was what made him so infuriating but it was also the reason he was likable. At least to John.

Really John wasn't mad; he was upset because Sherlock couldn't just be normal and accept everyday things. Without a case he went completely bonkers and John was forced to look after him lest he do something stupid and dangerous.

John stretched out on his bed and put his hands on his head. The flat was unbelievably quiet, quieter than it had been in weeks. Mrs. Hudson had obviously gone back to her flat and Sherlock was either out or locked up in his room now. Probably the later. John's words to Sherlock came back to him and felt shame for not only thinking them, but especially for saying them. Yelling at Sherlock and calling him a baby wasn't going to help it; it no doubt embarrassed him and made him feel even worse. John felt terrible and he knew he needed to apologize to him.

John got up and left his room. He walked to Sherlock's room and knocked on the door. No response.

"Sherlock, are you in there?" John called out softly. Still no response, but John knew he was in there. John tried to doorknob to see if it was locked; it was. He had tried to be as quiet as possible, but of course with Sherlock it was no good.

"You can't even give me privacy in my own bedroom?" Sherlock spat at him from behind the door. "Now you have to try to break into my room too?"

"I wasn't trying to break into your room" John said. "I just wanted to talk to you, and face to face would be better"

"No, go away" Sherlock said.

John sighed deeply. "Sherlock, please. Unlock the door"

"No"

John paced in front of Sherlock's door. "I know I upset you Sherlock and-

"No, you didn't upset me" Sherlock lied.

Sherlock was obviously telling a bold faced lie but John decided to not press the issue. "What I said, when I came home….I was in the wrong. I had no right to say those things. I didn't mean it I was just mad. I'm sorry"

There was no response and John knew that he wasn't going to get one. Despite what Sherlock said, he was upset and John knew it.

John went back to his room, though leaving the door cracked so as to hear when Sherlock finally emerged from his bedroom. Since he was going to get nowhere anytime soon with Sherlock he decided to try and occupy himself with something else. He deiced to finally return Emily's call from yesterday. As expected, she wasn't very happy that he was just now getting around to calling her back but after he gushed apologies and explained that there had been a fire at his house (he left out the fact that Sherlock started it, in fact he left Sherlock completely out of everything) she seemed to forgive him. She wasn't happy though when she suggested that they go out that night and John said that he couldn't. He didn't have a good excuse for why not and he could tell she wasn't happy when she hung up. But she hadn't given him the boot- yet.

John stared at his phone after hanging up with Emily. How he wished his phone would just ring and it could be Lestrade. Something, anything to get Sherlock feeling better. John fiddled with his phone, turning it over and over in his hands. After a few moments of debating he finally typed in Lestrade's number. It rang several times and John feared that he wasn't going to pick up; no doubt he was probably getting tired of them nagging him all the time about a case. But on the last ring Lestrade finally picked up. "Hello?"

"Hello, Greg" John said pleasantly.

John's tone was friendly but he could tell Lestrade just wanted to get to the point. " Sorry John, I don't have anything for you" he said tiredly.

"I know, I know" John said, "I don't mean to be a bother but Sherlock, he's driving me crazy. He needs something to do. Isn't there anything that you can do?"

There was a long pause and John could hear a lot of movement and other voices in the background. "Well, we are at a crime scene right now" Lestrade said, " It's not really a case of Sherlock's caliber but if you think it'll help him you guys can come on down"

At this point John would take anything. "Thanks Greg, we'll be down in a little bit"

John hung up and practically ran to Sherlock's bedroom. He tapped on it loudly and said, "Sherlock, open the door"

Of course, Sherlock didn't open the door. There was no sound and no movement behind the door.

"Sherlock, I just spoke to Lestrade and he said that they are a crime scene and-"

But before John could finish, Sherlock had opened the door and was staring straight at him. "A case?" he asked, trying to mask his delight "Really?"

"Yes" John said smiling broadly. "We had better get down there"

"What details did Lestrade give you when he asked you to help?" Sherlock asked.

John shifted uncomfortably. He knew that Sherlock would not appreciate it he knew that John had called Greg and practically begged him to let them crash his crime scene. So he lied. "Said he'd give us the details when we got there" John said, "We better hurry up"

In the car on the way to the crime scene, Sherlock shifted and moved positions. It was obvious that he was thrilled to be called on a case. He looked around and tapped his fingers like a kid in a candy store. John was beginning to feel guilty that he had lied to him, but the man had tried to burn down the flat this morning; he needed to be distracted.

Twenty minutes later John and Sherlock got out of the cab at a small house that was surrounded by a few police cars. Police milled around outside the small house and Sherlock and John ducked under the police tape before crossing the lawn. John was beginning to dread what he might find, and hoping it was something at least slightly interesting to Sherlock.

They stepped into the living room where Lestrade and a few forensics people were studying the scene of a murder. A woman's body was lying face down on the carpet; John couldn't say for sure what had happened but it was obvious that it had been brutal. Blood splattered the wall, nearby couch and carpet. John was just about to make his way over to Lestrade when Sherlock turned and began to walk out of the house.

"Hey, where are you going?" John asked as he trotted after Sherlock. He grabbed Sherlock's arm and Sherlock snatched it away as he turned around to face John. His eyebrows were knitted in anger.

"What was the purpose of bringing me here, John?" he asked. His voice was even but John could tell it was the calm before the storm.

"What do you mean?" John asked innocently "We are here to solve a case."

"Stop it John" Sherlock said angrily, " It's obvious that Lestrade didn't call us here. Even he could figure this one out on his own. I figured it out the second that I walked in here"

"I don't know what you're talking about" John said. Even to him it sounded weak. "I didn't figure it out"

"That's because you're average John" Sherlock spat. John had to admit it stung a little bit. "I don't feel like explaining it this time. You wasted my time."

Sherlock stormed out of the house and John followed him. "Sherlock" John called out after him. He was walking extraordinarily fast, but when John called his name he whipped around. "What John?" he asked. "What do you want?"

"I'm sorry Sherlock" John said. " I didn't mean to-

"to lie to me?" Sherlock asked. "Oh yes, I'm sure that was intentional. Really, John is that all I'm good for now? If something this simple is what I'm good for then I really have no business being a detective"

The rain was pouring and John could feel the cold and wet all the way to his skin and into his bones. He shivered as he watched the rain run down Sherlock's angry face. "No, that's not what I did Sherlock" he said. "I just knew you wanted a case and I was trying to get you one"

"All you did was waste my time and insult my intelligence John. I'm clearly nothing but a bother to you" Sherlock said. John could see the pain on his face, the sense that he was hurt that John had lied to him. That, coupled with the words that he had said earlier probably made Sherlock feel worthless. John really had wanted to help , but he knew that he'd made the problem 10 times worse.

Sherlock walked to the street where he hailed a cab. John ran up and tried to get into the cab with Sherlock, but Sherlock stuck his hand out, blocking John's path. "Don't" he said before shutting the door in John's face. John was left in the pouring rain, cold, wet and very alone.


	5. Chapter 5

**Thanks for all the reviews and follows guys! Hope you enjoy the new chapter :)**

John fidgeted in the backseat of the cab as it drove back to 221B Baker Street. The day had started off bad and had gotten progressively worse. John didn't understand how things had been almost okay yesterday and today they were horrible. But then again, with Sherlock Holmes, things often escalated rather quickly. John knew that this time he had had a lot to do with it. Things had been bad enough after the fire and John should have just left it at that. He really had been trying to help, but as was often the case, he had acted before he fully though it through and the result had been disastrous.

When he got back home he paid the cabbie quickly and practically ran inside the house. As expected, he found Sherlock locked in his room. John knocked on the door forcefully. "Sherlock! Sherlock, open this door please" he called out but the detective didn't stir. John continued to knock on the door; maybe Sherlock would get annoyed enough that he would open the door.

"Please Sherlock, let's talk about this" John said. "I know I did something stupid. I'm sorry, please just open this door"

But no matter how much John beat on the door or called out, Sherlock didn't open the door or answer him. John sunk down against the door and into the floor. His wet clothes clung to him uncomfortably but he didn't move. He was sitting there a few minutes when he heard a tentative knock on the door. He knew exactly who it was.

"Come in, Mrs. Hudson" he said wearily. Mrs. Hudson walked into the room and when she saw John just sitting on the floor in front of Sherlock's room, she gave him a look of sympathy. "I've got a pot of tea on, dear" she said in the mothering way that she could have about her. "Why don't you change those wet clothes before you get pneumonia and come on down"

John changed into some dry clothes and walked down to Mrs. Hudson's flat. They sat at her kitchen table and though he gladly accepted the warm tea he didn't accept any of the sweets she tried to push at him. He wasn't hungry; strange, how him being hungry this morning had prompted this whole nasty series of events.

"How angry was he? When he came back" John asked as he sipped his tea.

"You know, with Sherlock, it's hard to tell" Mrs. Hudson said cautiously.

"Mrs. Hudson…" John prompted her "Really?"

She gave him a distressed look as she finally admitted " He was upset. I wouldn't say angry so much as….hurt"

Great, John thought. He could deal with an angry Sherlock but he wasn't sure how to deal with a hurt one.

"Dear, do tell me what happened" Mrs. Hudson asked John.

John didn't want to, but he did. " Well, after he bloody tried to burn down the house this morning I was trying to help him. He's been completely insane since he's had nothing to do so I called Lestrade, tried to get him something to do. They were at a crime scene and I…..lied, told Sherlock Lestrade called and needed us. When we got there, he could tell. It was something easily, or so he said, figured out. He knew it was something Lestrade wouldn't have called him on. Obviously, he figured out it was my idea to go there and he got mad, upset. Knew I lied to him…" John hung his head. "Said he was a bother to me"

Mrs. Hudson put her hand on his arm. "Sherlock knows that isn't true" she said.

"Does he?" John asked, looking up. "Think of how I spoke to him this morning? I called him a baby, a burden. It was a horrible thing to say and he's every right to think I think he's a burden" _even though that's the furthest thing from the truth, _John thought.

"You were upset, it was a natural reaction. People always say things in arguments that they don't mean." Mrs. Hudson said. She always had a way of saying the things that you wanted to hear. Normally it made John feel better, but now it didn't.

"Maybe," John said. "But I don't think Sherlock would have said that to me."

Mrs. Hudson looked at him with sympathy. " You two will work this out, you always do. You've had rows before and you work it out. I'm telling you, deep down in that crazy, wonderful mind of his, he knows you didn't really mean those things"

Sherlock spent the entire rest of the day in his room. John stayed in Mrs. Hudson's flat chatting with her for a while and finally accepting some food to get her off his back, before returning to his own flat. John thought about trying to talk to Sherlock again but he knew that it was pointless, so he deiced against it. The sun had gone down and the only sound in the quiet, dark flat was the sound of the violent rain on the roof that had not let up all day. John couldn't stand the silence.

He went to the fireplace and lit a fire to warm up the definite chill that was forming in the flat and then went to the kitchen, grabbing a tall glass bottle and a glass and bringing them to the living room. John didn't drink often, because of Harry and his family's weakness for drink he made a point not to. And he most often drank in social, joyous occasions. He very rarely drank sad and alone, but right now he didn't much care.

He stared into the fire and sipped his drink. He was just beginning to feel it work its calming on him when he heard Sherlock's door open. John looked back at him but Sherlock pretended to not notice him as he went to the bathroom. Well, it was nice to know that even Sherlock was physically human.

When Sherlock emerged from the bathroom he began to make his way quickly back to his room when John said, "Care for a drink?" He didn't really know what he was doing; he was feeling a little bit tipsy and didn't really care.

"I don't drink, John" Sherlock said smugly and still with some anger behind it.

"It won't kill you, you should try it" John said, lifting his glass up. "Might loosen you up a bit"

"I've tried alcohol before John" Sherlock said, annoyed.

"Sure, that's why you have such an aversion to it?" John asked sarcastically.

"I confess I tried drugs as a teen and you think that I never tried alcohol?" Sherlock asked. "I told you, I don't like it. While drugs heighten my mental capabilities, alcohol lessens then which I am not keen on"

"Oh, so you're a lightweight?" John asked with a laugh.

Sherlock stood with his arms folded and a scowl on his face. John thought that he was going to run back to his room; he was surprised when Sherlock snatched the glass from John's hand and sat down in his chair. "I'm not getting drunk, if that's what you're hoping for" he said as he drank the remainder of what was in the cup.

Feeling himself going from tipsy to slightly drunk, John said. "Sherlock Holmes, how dare you imply something of that sort? People might talk"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "They do enough anyway" he said.

Much to John's surprise and relief, him and Sherlock burst into laughter at the same moment. Maybe Mrs. Hudson was right.

"This movie is so scientifically inaccurate" Sherlock said gesturing towards the telly as he handed the glass back over to John. John took the glass and took a drink from it as he gave a small chuckle. Leave it to Sherlock to still have perfect grammar and vocabulary even when he was drinking.

"Of course it is" John said, "It's supposed to be. It's supposed to be stupid"

John could only accredit alcohol for the fact that he and Sherlock were spending their evening watching the most absurd, cheesy horror movies on the telly. Sherlock never watched television and especially not something so blatantly inaccurate.

"Well, if that was their aim then they certainly accomplished it" Sherlock said, gesturing toward _The Blob _on the telly. John took another drink and went to hand the glass back to Sherlock, another testament to the alcohol. Rather than having two glasses he and Sherlock were just passing the same one back and forth. It was amazing that Sherlock wasn't whining about germs and saliva.

Sherlock waved the glass away. "No, you can keep it" Sherlock said.

"Getting too much?" John joked. "Come on Sherlock, you've hardly had any"

"And you've clearly had a lot" Sherlock said, "Listen to your slurred speech"

"Sounds fine to me" John said.

"Of course it does to you, you're intoxicated" Sherlock said.

"Knew you were a lightweight" John said with a chuckle as he took a drink. Sherlock snatched the glass out of hand mid-drink , sloshing some down the front of John's shirt. He fixed John with a cool look and finished what was in the glass.

John laughed. "You're pretty suggestive to peer pressure when you drink" he said.

"And you giggle like a schoolgirl when you drink" Sherlock said superiorly.

John tried not to laugh, but he couldn't.

John and Sherlock finished the rest of the cheesy movie, making a game of pointing out the scientific or realistic inaccuracies, though due to the amount of alcohol they had had (and the fact that he was just better at it) Sherlock was much better at this than John was. By the end of the movie, the fire had died down and the bottle was empty. The only light and noise was now coming from the telly. John and Sherlock were both slumped in their chairs. John felt himself falling off to sleep, and was sure that Sherlock already had for his friend had not spoken or moved for a long while and his eyes were closed. So he was surprised when Sherlock called out his name. "John?"

"Yeah, Sherlock?" John asked. He glanced over at Sherlock but he couldn't see him very well in just the light of the telly.

"I know you were trying to help" he said. John was surprised and felt relief coming over him at Sherlock's words.

"I really was" John said tiredly. He wasn't sure who was going to pass out first, him or Sherlock.

"Just think it through a bit better next time" Sherlock said which made John chuckle. The talk trailed off and John was almost asleep when he whispered, "You're not a burden, Sherlock" . He wasn't sure Sherlock was even awake to hear him.

Not until he heard him whisper back in the dark, "Thank you, John. Really, I couldn't be sure"

…

John woke up and instantly felt sore and stiff. He kept his eyes closed as he felt the tell-tell headache that was pounding in his temples reminding him how much he had drank last night. He curled up in the chair even though his muscles were stiff from sleeping there all night, and gave himself a moment to wake up. He heard the sound of dishes clanging and smelled something really good wafting through the air. Eggs, bacon, pancakes? Mrs. Hudson must be making breakfast. His stomach growled at the smell and reminded him that he hadn't eaten anything all day yesterday except for the sweets that Mrs. Hudson had pushed on him at teatime.

John sat up in his chair and stretched, his muscles complaining with every move. His head did hurt but overall he didn't feel too much hung over from the previous night. Really, with sharing the alcohol with Sherlock it was hard to tell how much he had had. When John thought back on the previous night he smiled. Not only had he coaxed Sherlock into drinking and watching crap telly with him, they weren't arguing anymore. Sherlock knew he didn't mean the mean-spirited things that he had said yesterday. Things were going to be okay. For once in a while, John felt optimistic about the day ahead.

"Mrs. Hudson, it smells like you've outdone yourself" John gushed as he stood up and went into the kitchen. He was stunned to find Sherlock the only one in the kitchen. He was arranging food onto two plates and turned around to John with a smile on his face. John was wondering what alternate universe he had woken up in.

"Well, I will give credit to Mrs. Hudson for getting the groceries, as the ones that you bought yesterday were ruined, laying out on the floor all day" Sherlock said " You know how I hate the supermarket. But, I did the cooking"

John felt his own forehead; he didn't feel feverish. Maybe he had drunk more than he thought he had; maybe Sherlock had. After all, he was not only smiling but he was cooking….for John. John had to look twice, but yes, he finally deiced that his eyes weren't deceiving him and Sherlock actually had an oven mitt on.

"You?" John asked incredulously. "You cooked all this?"

"You act surprised John" Sherlock said, giving John a wide smile.

John was trying to think back to last night. Surely he had fallen and hit his head….hard. "I am" he said, "You don't cook"

"Oh you underestimate me John" Sherlock said, "I did live by myself for many years. I can cook"

"But you don't" John said. "You hardly eat. I've never seen you cook anything….well other than tea if you count that"

Sherlock just smiled and handed John a plate. Since the kitchen table was still a pile of rubble, they went into the living room with their plates. Sherlock began to dig in and John found himself staring at him rather than eating. It was not lost on Sherlock. "Why are you staring at me?" Sherlock asked through bites.

"Are you sick or something?" John asked.

Sherlock didn't pick up on the joke "Of course not" he said. "I feel very well"

"I just meant that you are acting…." John fished for a word but eventually settled on, "strange"

"How so?" Sherlock asked.

"Cooking, eating an actual meal, smiling so much" John said. "what's gotten you in such a good mood?"

Sherlock smiled "Lestrade called while you were asleep" he said.

"A case?" John asked.

"Well, not exactly a case" Sherlock said, "You'll remember my blog on tobacco ash? Well, seems that Lestrade has some samples that he needs my opinion on to close a case."

Sherlock was pretty much beaming and John felt himself doing the same. "Well, that's really good" he said. "I'm sure you can be of a lot of help in that"

"I do consider myself an expert" Sherlock said superiorly.

Sherlock and John finished their breakfast, Sherlock rushing off to his microscope as soon as he was finished, not even taking time to take his plate to the sink. John scooped up his dishes gladly; he knew that studying tobacco ash was one of Sherlock's narrow and obsessive interests and he seemed happy as he got to work. And if Sherlock was happy, John was happy.

While Sherlock busied himself with the ash samples, John began to clean up the mess in the kitchen from the previous day's fire. While he was cleaning, his phone rang. He put down the broom and answered his phone. "Hey, Emily" he said pleasantly.

"Hi John, what are you up to?" she asked. She didn't seem angry as she had for about the past week and for that he was glad.

"Oh, just trying to clean up the flat a little bit" John said.

"So you're not busy today?" she asked hopefully. John could see where this was going to go.

"No, not really" John said.

"Want to go out and catch a movie?" she asked.

"Um….." John hesitated. He looked at Sherlock who was busy with his samples but he still felt reason to not go. Sherlock was doing really good but considering the events of the previous day, the after effects of which he was still cleaning up. But Sherlock seemed to read his mind for he said from the microscope, "John, really you should go. Have fun for once and stop worrying"

John felt an inner battle going on inside of him. Going still seemed like poor judgment, but wasn't he just thinking yesterday that he should be able to go out? That he deserved that? Yes, certainly he deserved to do something that he wanted to do.

"Sure, Emily, that sounds great" he finally decided.

…..

That evening as John got ready for his date he felt uneasy. He knew that he should be happy; it was the best day he and Sherlock had had in a long while. Sherlock had been obsessively working on his tobacco samples all day and John was happy for this. They hadn't spoken much which indicated another good sign. Sherlock never spoke when he was really into an experiment. John should be happy and he was, but he couldn't help but think about the past two times he'd left recently to come home and find the kitchen ablaze.

After showering and dressing John walked into the living room where Sherlock was doing his experiments. He didn't look up as John walked into the room. "Well, I guess I'm ready to go out" John said. Sherlock didn't respond which was normal. It was until John said, "Are you sure you're fine with this?" that Sherlock responded.

Sherlock glanced at John from his microscope. "Of course" he said, "You've been cooped up in here far too long."

"Are you going to be okay?" John asked. He tried not to sound nervous.

"I don't need you to be my nanny" Sherlock said with an annoyed glance.

"I know that" John said, though he was quiet sure that he often did need John around. Especially lately.

"Then stop worrying, please" Sherlock said looking back at the microscope. " Go out and have fun"

John left it at that and bid Sherlock farewell. He tried not to worry about Sherlock and just have fun, but he found that he couldn't stop worrying about Sherlock. It was really ridiculous that he couldn't get him out of his mind but for whatever reason he couldn't. There was nothing to set off an alarm in his head but, somehow he just had that _feeling. _That feeling you can't explain when you know something bad is going to happen.

John knew that he was being a horrible date. He couldn't count how many times his mind had trailed and he had no idea what Emily had said and he was unusually quiet. From dinner to the movie and back to her flat he could feel the date going progressively worse. He was actually stunned that she even invited him back to her flat at all.

They sat down on the couch in front of the telly. Emily leaned on John's shoulder as she handed him the remote. Perhaps she wasn't too mad after all, he mused as he flipped through the channels; she was kind of cuddling up to him, though she was very quiet now. As John flipped through the channels, he landed on a channel that was playing that same crap movie from last night, the one he and Sherlock watched and made fun of. When he left it on that station, Emily turned and gave him a bewildered look. "You want to watch this?" she asked.

"Yeah, sure" John said with a laugh , "Haven't you ever watched a really terrible movie and laughed about how horrible it was? Watch it just to make fun of it?"

"No, can't say that I have" Emily said. She lay back down on John's shoulder. John tried playing the game with Emily but she didn't seem to get the hang of it; come to think of it, it wasn't nearly as fun as it had been when he and Sherlock had played it. Maybe you had to be drunk to enjoy it.

John grew quiet and began to worry again. He hoped that Sherlock was okay; he hoped that he hadn't blown up the flat or set fire to something. He hoped he hadn't gotten bored and was now throwing knives at the wall or going through his personal stuff again. Uhgg, this was so annoying! Why couldn't he just STOP? Stop worrying about what was going to happen? Stop worrying about Sherlock? Stop thinking about Sherlock for God's sake?

In a surge of emotion John suddenly found himself kissing Emily. He didn't know where it came from, but he found that it helped. Suddenly he wasn't thinking about much of anything….

Not until Emily pushed him away with an annoyed expression on her face. Definitely not good. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"Kissing you" John said, " What's wrong?"

"Are you serious?" Emily asked frustratingly

"Yes, what's wrong?" John asked. He couldn't understand what he'd done wrong. She had been the one cuddling up to him, right?

"You basically ignore me all evening" Emily said, " You don't listen to anything I say and basically only talk when you have to and then you throw yourself at me and start snogging me like a teenager!"

He hadn't been doing that, had he? It seemed a little fuzzy there for a second, almost if he was in an emotional frenzy, very unlike him. But surely she was exaggerating.

"Did you just agree to go out with me tonight because you were expecting to get lucky?" Emily asked. She was irate.

This was going more disastrous than he could have guessed. He really should have stayed at home. " No!" John said, " No I was not"

"Then what's the problem, John. Why have you been so distant all night?" Emily asked, folding her arms, waiting. Waiting for him to give her an answer. Oh no….

"I'm sorry" John said. "I know I've been distant. Really I've just been stressed out lately and I can't seem to get it off my mind"

"Stressed out about what?" She asked. It seemed like an innocent enough question, but John knew that he couldn't honestly answer. She was already so angry and if he mentioned Sherlock it was bound to send her over the edge.

Apparently he paused for too long, because Emily said, "Stuck? Here let me help you out. Let me guess that it has something to do about Sherlock. Am I right?"

John didn't even say anything. He didn't know what to say; nothing could make this situation any better. "Of Couse it is" Emily said angrily. " It always is. Everything's always about Sherlock. Well, I'm tired to competing with him." She threw his coat at him. "Just go home and release some of your "stress" out on him!"

Well, there it was. John wasn't surprised but he was still annoyed and frustrated. That's what it always came down to. He didn't know why woman felt they needed to compete with Sherlock, but they always did. John was so dejected that he decided to just walk home instead of take a cab. He just needed some time to think. Normally, he would have been mad, thinking that it was all Sherlock's fault that he couldn't have a normal relationship. But this time he didn't think he had anyone to blame but himself.

The night was cold and John's breaths came out in little white puffs. All night he had been anxious to get home and now it seemed that he was getting closer to home he didn't want to be. He had a strange sense of foreboding which should have quickened his pace but he was sure he was just being paranoid. Considering Sherlock had set fire to the flat twice this week he had reason to worry but Sherlock had been so happy- and busy- when he left he was sure that he didn't have the reason to worry like he did in the past week or so.

By the time that John got back to the flat his fingers and toes were numb but he felt like his head was clearer. He noticed that there was no emergency vehicles outside the flat so he took that as a good sign. Despite the fact that he had just been dumped- again- he was feeling content as he opened the door to the flat.

When John walked up the steps and opened the door of the flat he instantly knew something was wrong. Like the feeling from the war, that sense that something had exploded that a tragedy had happened, the sense that told you despite evidence yet you just _knew _something was wrong.

When John came into the flat his heat skipped a beat , or two, or ten. He forgot how to breathe as it felt like a thousand pound weight was sitting on his chest. He froze on the spot; despite the fact that he had been trained in emergency situations it still didn't make it any easier when it was someone that you cared about. You still froze.

John was prepared for a lot of things but nothing could have prepared him for the sight he found in the flat that night.


	6. Chapter 6

**Warning: Excessive Feels Ahead! You have been warned :)**

**Thanks for the reviews and follows...please continue. They give me inspiration :)**

"Oh my God" John whispered to himself. He kept saying it over and over and again and yet he couldn't will himself to move. A whimpering sound from his flat mate was what finally managed to get him out of his state of shock and into a state of motion.

Sherlock was lying on the floor of the living room, face down. John rushed over to him, not knowing if he was conscious or not. It was like the night that he had found Sherlock passed out in his room because of his drug use. Only this was worse; much worse. John could tell the second that he saw Sherlock. That time, Sherlock had been lying face up as if relaxing. Now Sherlock was face down as if he had fallen down. Not to mention there was vomit on the floor beside of Sherlock; John noticed a large amount of blood in it and he became panicked.

"Oh my God, Sherlock" he whispered breathlessly. He flipped Sherlock over and only became more panicked at the sight of him. He was ghastly pale and there was not only blood on the corners of his mouth, but now flowing pretty freely from his nose. John shook him, hoping that he wasn't unconscious. "Sherlock, Sherlock" he called out. "Please, Sherlock. Wake up" But it was in vain; Sherlock was out cold.

John's mind automatically went to overdoes; considering his flat mate's history and the events of the past week he was sure that it had to be drugs. But when John searched him, he didn't find a needle or even a mark on Sherlock's arm. What then? What could it be? John looked desperately for clues; he knew that as a physician he should be thinking quicker but he felt as if his thoughts were in molasses. He kept looking; finally he figured it out. Sherlock's hand was dirty from where he had gotten sick; he'd made himself get sick. What then? Pills? Something Sherlock had taken hadn't been what it should have been and he had tried to make himself sick to get it out of his system. It didn't make any sense? Sherlock had never taken pills, at least that he knew, so why now? He'd confessed his use of morphine and cocaine so he had no reason to believe that Sherlock would not also confessed he'd used pills before. He hadn't….so why now? He'd been doing better…..

John used his jumper sleeve to wipe away some of the blood flowing from  
Sherlock's nose; it didn't seem to want to stop. Before long a good deal of his shirt was stained red. John fumbled for his mobile in his pocket and dialed the emergency number.

When the lady asked what his emergency was, John froze. This just couldn't be happening. "Sir, what is your emergency?" she prompted again.

John felt tears chocking his throat but he forced himself to swallow them down. "My friend, he's taken something….I don't know what. He's…..I'm really…..he doesn't look good…." John chocked "An overdose of something…..please you have to help me"

"Calm down, sir, we'll be there as quick as we can. Please tell me where you are calling from"

It was all that John could do to remember his address. He didn't know how he held it together as he spoke but somehow he did. He hung up the phone after giving the lady his information and looked down at Sherlock. His own stomach rolled as if he was going to be sick, but he bit the bile down. "Sherlock" he said. It was barely a whisper. Sherlock looked so awful; his face was so pale he looked like a corpse, his pulse was terribly weak and his nose wouldn't stop bleeding. John was staring at him when suddenly Sherlock's eyes fluttered open.

"Sherlock?" John asked hopefully. He was hoping for a response, something to encourage him Sherlock was going to make it. He didn't get that.

Sherlock made a chocking sound as he spit up again. John was alarmed to see that it was mostly blood that came up. Before he even had time to process this alarming symptom, he was seized with horror when Sherlock's entire body began convulsing in a seizure. John's stomach clenched and his hands began to shake as he felt complete helplessness come over him. He knew that there was nothing that he could do and he had to wait for the ambulance. He was completely helpless to do anything to help Sherlock. Where was that damn ambulance? Shouldn't they be here by now?

It seemed like it went on forever; when Sherlock's body finally stopped shaking, John breathed a sigh of relief. John called out Sherlock's name hopeful that he might respond. When John didn't get a response, he shook Sherlock gently. He didn't stir. John felt the sinking in his chest get worse when he realized that Sherlock wasn't breathing. John put a hand to Sherlock's neck and felt no pulse.

Darkness began to close in on John's vision as total panic began to come towards him, but instead of causing him to freeze, it spurred him into action. He was not going to let Sherlock die; he couldn't…

John put his shaking hands on Sherlock's face as he pressed his lips onto Sherlock's deathly cold ones and blew in. He pressed down on Sherlock's chest, trying his best to pump life into him. With each set of breaths and compressions, John held his own breath as he looked for signs of life in Sherlock. Tears trickled out of eyes and his arms burned but he didn't even register these things; he had to get Sherlock's heart beating again, had to get him breathing.

It was an eternity before it was over. When John's arms were so tired they were shaking, he reached over to give Sherlock another breath, but felt instead a small bit of air come from him. It was weak, very weak and so John put his lips to Sherlock's and breathed out as deeply as he could manage to jump start his friend's breaths. It was music to John's ears when Sherlock began to cough.

Sherlock coughed and breathed raspy in and out, but he was conscious and breathing. He was alive. John pulled Sherlock close to him so that his head was in John's lap, looking up at his friend. Sherlock's breathing was still labored and quick. As he looked up at John, John saw something in them that he never had before; fear, panic. True fear.

Sherlock was shaking and John pulled his own coat off and laid it over Sherlock. Sherlock's eyes didn't leave John's face. He whispered something that John couldn't hear.

"What, Sherlock?" he asked, leaning down so that he could better hear.

"Help me" Sherlock whispered raspy. That's when John's heart broke completely.

…

John couldn't believe what was happening. It was like a horrible nightmare; it didn't seem that the events that were happening could really be happening to him. He was holding it together for Sherlock's sake, but he knew soon he was going to completely loose it. His nerves were completely shot and he was running on pure adrenaline. He was very familiar with trauma and tragedy, but this time it was different.

It wasn't long after he resuscitated Sherlock when the ambulance finally arrived on the scene. They tried to take Sherlock away without him, saying he couldn't ride in the ambulance. After a lot of screaming and cursing, they changed their minds.

In the ambulance John felt himself coming unraveled. The lights were so bright, everything was so loud and he was crammed into the corner where he couldn't properly see Sherlock. Sherlock lost consciousness shortly after getting into the vehicle; within two minutes, his heart stopped again. John held his breath while they were resuscitating him and was nearly out of himself when Sherlock finally came back. Darkness was still swimming at the edges of his vision when Sherlock stopped breathing yet again; when John got sick, no one noticed and he was glad.

Sherlock had been successfully resuscitated for 3 minutes when they got to the hospital. When they got the gurney out of the ambulance, they raced at breakneck speed into the emergency wing of the hospital. John ran as fast he could to keep up with them, but it wasn't very long before they passed through a door that was marked as personnel only and John was forced to stop. As John watched Sherlock pass through the doors he realized with horror that it might be the last time he saw his friend alive. After all, he had stopped breathing three times in the past half hour. All because of drugs. All because he was _bored. _

Without Sherlock around to be strong for, John collapsed. His legs slide out from under him as he leaned against the wall in the hospital. He looked down at his hands that were spotted with blood- Sherlock's blood. His hands were shaking, he noticed by looking. He couldn't feel them shaking. He couldn't feel anything but a huge, throbbing pain in his chest that made breathing almost impossible. He was sweating profusely and at the same time he thought he was shivering as well, though he couldn't tell. John just couldn't understand how this was happening. How had he gone from the happy feeling this morning that today was going to be a good day, to the utterly hopeless, world shattering, heart crushing feeling he now had? How he just 24 hours ago been laughing and drinking with Sherlock back in 221B , only to now be sitting on the floor of the hospital, not even knowing if Sherlock was alive?

It was his fault, really. He should have never left the house. He had a feeling about it, and yet he had ignored it. All day he knew that something was off and he hadn't listened to it. He had ignored his instincts, thrown out his better judgment. And now Sherlock was fighting for his life.

People passed by John, not even noticing him. Doctors, nurses, people whose lives weren't in total disrepair. People who would go home and be happy, who would go home to their loved ones. As a doctor, John was used to being on that side, the side that only saw despair on the face of others. He wasn't used to being on this side of medicine and he didn't know how to handle it. Despite the fact that he was surrounded by people and he normally didn't give in to such emotion, John collapsed into tears. He put his face in his hands and just let the sobs overcome him. He cried until his whole body hurt from the shaking, until there weren't any tears left in him. It didn't help, didn't change anything, but it was all that he could do. No one noticed him and he did his best to pretend that he was anywhere but here.


	7. Chapter 7

**As usual, review and let me know what you think! Another chapter filled with feels, though some good ones this time!**

Sometime later, John didn't know how much, as time had lost all meaning, he sat in a hospital room with Sherlock. Sherlock was not unconscious, just sleeping but John wouldn't feel better until he woke up and spoke to him. The doctors said he was out of the woods, but John wasn't convinced. Sherlock looked horrible; it turned out that whatever Sherlock had taken it had been a lethal combination of several different things. John couldn't imagine what had happened, and he knew that he wouldn't get the story until Sherlock was alive and well. And really, the story didn't matter. John just wanted Sherlock to be okay. This was exactly what he had always been afraid of with Sherlock's causal drug use; sure it had gone okay in the past, but Sherlock didn't seem to understand the severity of what could have happened. Unfortunately, he was going to learn that lesson in the hardest way possible.

John shivered in his t-shirt in the cold hospital room. He had had to take off his jumper; he couldn't stand seeing Sherlock's blood on him anymore. When he'd gone to the restroom he'd take horror at the sight of himself, throwing the jumper in the bin and scrubbing his hands vigorously to get rid of the blood that covered his hands. He'd realized much to his dismay that he even had blood on his lips from giving Sherlock CPR. He had gagged but since there was nothing left in him, he had just dry heaved.

It was late night and the hospital seemed almost quiet. The only sounds were the beeping of a few machines that were attached to Sherlock. John looked at Sherlock; he seemed too fragile. He was as pale as the sheets that surrounded him. His dark hair was a contrast to his very pale skin. The only thing that wasn't ghastly about his skin was his cheeks which were red. Sweat dotted his forehead and John thought about how much his body had endured and how much healing he had yet to do. Despite seeming larger than life all the time, he now seemed small. In a desperate impulse, John reached out and took Sherlock's hand, being careful of the IV running into it. Sherlock's hand was cold as ice and John resisted the urge to cry again. He wasn't going to though; Sherlock could wake at any moment and he didn't want him to find him crying. He didn't really want him to find him holding his hand either, but as long as he slept, John left it.

As John looked at him, he couldn't ignore the crippling feeling of guilt that was suffocating him. He knew deep down that he wasn't responsible for Sherlock's actions, that he had done this all on his own. But that still didn't prevent him from thinking if only he and been there tonight this would never have happened. Didn't stop him from thinking that he should have been there. That he failed Sherlock somehow.

Sherlock began to stir and John let go of his hand quickly, rubbing his stinging eyes. Sherlock opened his eyes and John saw confusion in them as he looked around, "What?" he asked looking around, "Where….."

"Sherlock, it's okay" John said, coughing slightly to make his voice sound normal, "I'm here. You're in the hospital"

Sherlock was groggy; his eyes barely opened and they were red as he took in his surroundings. "Oh, John" he said as he looked at him. He seemed to relax a bit. "The hospital….I don't want to be in the hospital"

"Yeah, no one does, but you've been to hell and back" John said, his voice cracking. "You need to be here"

Sherlock was weak but he pushed back his sheets and pulled at his IVs " I want to leave….get these things out of me, John." He said, going from groggy to slightly irritated.

"I can't Sherlock" John said, " You need those. You need to stay here and heal. Don't you feel absolutely terrible?" He should; he'd not only had goodness knows what pumped through his veins but also had CPR administered to him and had his heart shocked backed to beating twice.

"I'd feel a lot better if I could sleep in my bed" He said pushing back the covers completely and attempting to get out of bed. "This bed is awful and I hate hospitals."

John got up and pushed Sherlock back down on the bed. "Sherlock, you're not leaving" he said a little more forcefully.

"Why won't you help get me out of here?" Sherlock asked, "I'm not a prisoner here"

"I won't help you get out of here because you were dead Sherlock" John said. "You actually DIED….your heart stopped beating. I brought you back; I can't do that again. You're staying her until I'm sure you're well enough that that won't happen again. Heaven only knows what poison is in your body" John faked a coughing fit so that he could put his face down into his elbow, but really his bloody eyes were stinging again and he didn't want Sherlock to see it. The memory of Sherlock essentially dying in his arms was too much to think about.

But even recovering Sherlock was still Sherlock. He didn't miss this. " I understand that you are angry with me John. What I did was…..not good, so I understand that you are angry at me."

John couldn't believe that Sherlock had read it so wrong. He looked up from his elbow. "Angry? You think I'm angry at you?" he asked incredulously.

"Yes" Sherlock said. He laid his head back on the pillow, growing paler and seeming to begin to give in to his weakness.

"Sherlock, I'm not angry at you. I'm-"John didn't know how to phrase it. His throat and eyes were sore and raw from the crying that he had already done. He wasn't quite sure that his body could produce more tears but he felt the emotion coming over him. He tried to speak but every time he tried he pictured Sherlock's unresponsive body.

"John, are you…..crying?" Sherlock asked. Shock was evident in his voice, even if it was weak.

"No" John lied, resisting the urge to rub his eyes.

"Yes, you are" Sherlock said, " Your eyes are red you are blinking excessively to rid them of the extra moisture"

John pressed his fingers into his eyes as the feeling to cry became stronger. Leave it to Sherlock to still be reading him.

"John, why are you crying?" Sherlock asked. It was obvious in his tone that he really didn't understand. "You're not….angry?"

John cursed under his breath as he wiped his eyes. "Sherlock, how could I be angry?" he asked. "Being mad at you never crossed my mind…..I was too busy being panicked. I come home and fine you passed out on the floor, having no idea what is wrong with you. You were fine, or so I thought, when I left. Then I come back….." John's voice broke and he was embarrassed at the tear that ran down his face. He flicked it away angrily with his finger. "There was so much blood and then you had a bloody seizure and then you…..just stopped. Stopped breathing, your heart stopped beating. I thought it wouldn't…..thought it might not work. I'm sure it was only a few minutes, but….." His nerves were so shot now that he didn't even try to stop the tears that were coming out of his eyes. "but it felt like so much longer than that. Felt like an eternity."

The silence of the room was broken only by the sound of the machines that were attached to Sherlock. When John had composed himself enough, he wiped his eyes and looked up at Sherlock. He was expecting to see him study him, analyze what he was doing. But he didn't see that. What he saw was Sherlock looking at him with the most puzzled expression. "I'm so sorry, John" he said. "I never intended to…..upset you so."

John couldn't believe the remorse and guilt that he saw on Sherlock's face. It was totally foreign to him. Sherlock was obviously confused, hurt, tired physically and emotionally. John felt the same. He wanted so much to go back to the comfort and safety of 221B. "Still want to break out of here?" he asked.

….

John knew that really he shouldn't have been encouraging Sherlock to leave, and the doctors were furious about it. They insisted on looking Sherlock over again one last time before they left and made sure to remind them several times that they were not responsible if something happened to Sherlock because they had so strongly advised against it.

It was very late at night when John and Sherlock finally made it back to 221B. The roads were completely empty and it didn't take long to make the journey from the hospital to the flat. When Sherlock got out of the cab it was very evident that he shouldn't have left the hospital. He could hardly move; he didn't walk but rather shuffled along the sidewalk. He was very pale and honestly John was surprised that he was still standing. But Sherlock was making slow progress and so John didn't try to help him, which he was sure that Sherlock as glad for. It took an eternity to walk the short distance from the door to Sherlock's bedroom, John standing cautiously close behind Sherlock just in case he fell. John was glad when they made it to Sherlock's room and he sat down gingerly on his bed. His face was pale as snow and his forehead gleaned with sweat. John considered it a miracle that he had made it up here without passing out.

"Get me some pajamas" Sherlock asked weakly. John went over to Sherlock's drawers; not doubt Sherlock couldn't wait to get out of the terrible hospital gown; he had just thrown is coat overtop of it in their haste to leave. He had to be cold despite his perspiration.

John grabbed the first t-shirt and pajamas pants that he found. In embarrassment John wondered about getting him some underwear, as he was no doubt not wearing any now. He didn't know which drawer to look in, nor did he really want to see what kind of underwear Sherlock wore. He's just going to sleep so he can just go without them, John thought as he closed the drawers, feeling his face flush red. He gave Sherlock the clothes and then awkwardly asked, "Do you need….any help?" Dear lord, please say no, John thought.

Sherlock looked embarrassed as well, averting his eyes. "Um, no. I can manage. Can you actually get me some tea?" he said.

"Sure" John said, cautious leaving Sherlock to change on his own. John hoped that he didn't strain himself or pass out trying to dress himself. He went to the kitchen and made a cuppa, but also brought a large glass of water. Sherlock probably really needed just water as he was probably very low on fluids. Again, John considered why he had foolishly agreed to take Sherlock home. He should still be at the hospital. But then again, he was a doctor right? He could take case of Sherlock. And, if he was honest with himself, he _wanted _to take care of Sherlock.

He paused outside the door and asked, "Can I come in?" not wanting to catch Sherlock off guard.

"Give me a moment" Sherlock said tiredly from the bedroom. John waited for a few minuets, listening to Sherlock's labored breathing before saying, "Sherlock, do you need some help?"

"No" Sherlock was quick and insistent. John staid put; he knew that Sherlock must be in a lot of pain from his ordeal, not mention that John probably cracked some of his ribs when he gave him CPR. But Sherlock was nothing if not proud and unless it was impossible to dress himself, he wasn't going to ask for help.

After a few more minutes, Sherlock said, "Come in" in an out of breath voice.

John walked in and found Sherlock sitting at the edge of the bed. He was even paler than before if that was possible and his hair was wet on his brow from exertion. John didn't even have to force him to drink the water that he brought; Sherlock snatched it from his hand before even taking the tea. John thought about cautioning him to take his time lest he throw up again, but Sherlock was drinking and that was a good thing so he said nothing. Sherlock took the cup of tea and began to sip it more slowly as John pulled down Sherlock's covers and prop up the pillows against the headboard. When Sherlock finished his tea, he sank back onto the pillows tiredly, pulling the covers up to his waist. John knew Sherlock really just needed to sleep a good long time; he wouldn't have been able to do this at the hospital and he was glad , at least at the moment, that he had brought him home.

"Do you need me to get you anything else?" John asked as Sherlock's heavy eyelids finally fell.

"No" Sherlock said. It sounded like barely a whisper. He was probably already half asleep.

John began to walk toward the door when he felt something tug on the back of his shirt. When he turned around, he saw Sherlock's hand gently clutching the bottom hem of his shirt. "Stay. I need you to stay" Sherlock whispered. His eyes were closed and John couldn't be sure he'd heard him right.

"What?" John asked. Sherlock hadn't let go of his shirt, if anything his grip seemed to get tighter.

"I want you to stay with me tonight" Sherlock said. His eyes remained closed but his pale face seemed distressed at the thought of John's leaving.

John couldn't believe what he was hearing. Sherlock rarely admitted to needing anything, and he never admitted to needing John. Maybe almost dying had made him feel vulnerable. John knew he sure looked vulnerable.

"You want me to stay here with you?" John asked incredulously.

Sherlock finally opened in his eyes. True to his character to the first thing he did was roll his eyes. "You heard me perfectly fine John, I'm not going to say it again" he said.

John gave a slight smirk as he turned to get a chair to pull next to Sherlock's bed, but Sherlock didn't let go of his shirt. "No" he said, scooting over to make a space for John to sit down on the bed beside him. "Right here" John felt his face turn red; Sherlock must still be high.

John sat on the edge of the bed, throwing off his coat and shoes. Sherlock turned over so that he was on his side toward John. His eyes were now closed and his hand remained closed tightly on John's shirt. The whole thing made John embarrassed but at the same time he felt himself smiling.

"Thank you John" Sherlock said softly a moment later, before drifting off to sleep.

"For what, Sherlock?" John asked.

"For getting here in time" Sherlock said. John thought with horror of what could have happened had he arrived only minutes later. He wouldn't have been here to give Sherlock CPR, to call the paramedics. He could have….

"It was lucky I did" John said, suppressing the deep emotions. "I'm just glad you're okay now"

John sat at the edge of the bed for a few minutes until he felt Sherlock' hand on his shirt give way as he fell to sleep. John thought about leaving now that Sherlock was resting, but oddly enough he found he didn't want to leave. He lay back on the bed and turned so that he was facing Sherlock.

This day felt like it had lasted for a million years, and John felt it in every part of his being. Every muscle ached, from excursion and adrenaline. Now that the adrenaline was leaving him, he could feel the pain and fatigue that his body was sending him. That wasn't even to mention the emotional trauma that had strained his body and soul. John was sure that he could sleep for days. But for the moment, he forced his eyes open and willed himself to not fall asleep. He looked at Sherlock sleeping just inches from him; knowing that Sherlock would be back to his distant self the second that he healed, he allowed himself to enjoy for a moment his closeness and weakness.

Sherlock was finally peaceful. His pale face was relaxed now, not drawn, not distressed. John looked at Sherlock's hand that was still outstretched from holding onto John's shirt. He thought about how he held Sherlock's hand in desperation earlier that night and he reached out to it again; not because he was desperate, but just out of pure comfort. While it had been cold and somewhat lifeless earlier, it was now warm and comforting in John's hand. Knowing that Sherlock was deep in sleep and unlikely to awake any time soon, John allowed himself to place his fingers between Sherlock's like he never could when he was awake.

John felt peace, genuine peace. The whole ordeal had been horrible; Sherlock overdosing, dying and waking over and over again, the uncertainty that had hung over him as he waited, not knowing if Sherlock was alive or dead. But now Sherlock was okay and as long as he was okay, John could be okay. John had a million questions to ask Sherlock, find meaning for why he had done this, but for right now he was content to just have him okay. To just be here with him.

Despite trying to keep his eyes open, after a few minutes it was too much and John felt himself being pulled into the subconscious.


	8. Chapter 8

**You know the drill: follow and review :)**

John's eyes fluttered open and they were blurry and sore. He rubbed them to make them clear and instantly saw a pair of eyes staring at him just inches from his face. Sherlock's eyes. He let out a cry and pulled back into a sitting position. "What are you doing?" John asked Sherlock who was just staring at him. John realized that he was in Sherlock's bed and was confused for a second. Then he remembered the events of the past night. In the light of day he was embarrassed and he pulled himself to edge of the bed.

"Watching you, what do you think?" Sherlock asked.

"Well, I know that, but why are you just staring at me?" john asked.

"I was tired, didn't feel like getting up" Sherlock said. "Did you know you talk in your sleep?"

"I do not" John argued

"How would you know?" Sherlock asked. "You're obviously unconscious so you have no idea. I however was awake and defiantly witnessed you talking in your sleep"

Sherlock still looked pale, tired and sickly, but he was acting normally. This was a good sign. If he could annoy John again, then he would be okay. "What did I say?" John asked cautiously as he felt a flash of red run up his neck.

John couldn't be sure but he thought that he saw Sherlock's eyes flicker for a second down to his hand before he said, "Nothing important, just thought you'd like to know." He quickly changed the subject. "Get me some tea?"

"Sure" John said, grateful for an excuse to leave the awkwardness. He went to the kitchen and returned with tea. He set Sherlock's on the bedside table and pulled up a chair beside the bed to sit in. Sherlock and John sipped their tea in silence. When they had finished John said, "How are you feeling?"

"Horrible" Sherlock said, "Really awful"

"Well, that's not exactly a surprise" John said, " There has been a battle going on inside your body"

Sherlock placed his hands on top of his chest with a grimace and said, " I do believe you fractured some of my ribs with your CPR"

"Well, sorry, I was trying to keep you alive" John said. He had said it off handily but he felt a pang in his stomach when he thought about it.

"I do appreciate that part" Sherlock said gazing up at John.

Silence hung in the air for a moment; when John finally decided ask the question that had been on his mind. "So what did happen Sherlock?"

Sherlock sighed and suddenly looked very weary. "I knew you were going to make me _discuss _this" he said.

"Of course I'm going to make you discuss this" John said, "I think I deserve an explanation"

Sherlock looked down at his hands that sat upon his chest for a few moments. After that he finally looked up at John and said, " I made some unfortunate decisions"

"Well, yeah" John said. "That much is obvious. But I want to know how you were all smiley and cooking breakfast in the morning and then passed out on pills by the evening."

Sherlock didn't look at John when he next spoke. He averted his eyes down like a child that had been caught in a wrong act and now was forced to explain their disobedience. " I lied to you" he said, "The whole thing was a rouse"

"What whole thing?" John asked. "Being happy? Getting me out of the house?"

"All of it" Sherlock said. He still looked down "I just wanted some….stimulation" John thought he saw Sherlock flush slightly "Nothing provides that but my work and I didn't have any. The only other thing was…..the drugs. I know that you don't like it, so I resisted this long, but I really couldn't take it anymore." Sherlock put his hands on his head and ran his fingers through his long dark curls. "You've no idea what it's like! For your mind to race out of control and have nowhere to go! It's awful, dreadful! I just wanted it to stop, just for a little while. I knew if I got you out of the house, hopefully on a date, you'd be gone for a few hours. I wasn't going to take much, just a little, just for that time. I didn't want you to worry about it…me. With the drugs."

Sherlock wouldn't look at him. Honestly John was surprised that he was being this honest. Sherlock could shut down at any moment though. "Of course I was worry about it" he said, himself now looking down as well. "For this very reason. I know you've done it in the past and everything has been okay, so you naturally assume nothing can happen to you, that you're invincible when you aren't. What happened last night was always what I've worried about. I would let you do what made you happy if it wasn't going to harm you"

"It never did before" Sherlock said. He looked out toward the window "I had every reason to assume that this time would be the same. Obviously this is the reason I never assume anything."

"Yeah and you never took pills before either" John said, feeling himself get slightly angry, not at Sherlock, but angry at his poor decisions that had led him into the path of harm when he didn't need to. " Though I'm not sure, perhaps you lied about that? What was it you thought that you were taking anyway?"

"I didn't lie about that" Sherlock said slightly defensive. " I never had. And I wouldn't have either, but as I told you before, Mycroft made sure that he took care of everyone that had previously supplied me. The only way to get some now was to go to someone that I never had before. They didn't have what I wanted, so I got the pills off them. They were just supposed to be pain killers, nothing more. Only it was obvious that they weren't that; the effect was evident within a few minutes. I made myself vomit to try to rid my system of the pills but the effect was far too quick and it had already made it into my blood stream" Sherlock gazed down at the blanket, picking at the edge of it. He seemed embarrassed and it was obvious that he was uncomfortable. "What I did was…foolish. I should have never done what I did. I always made it a point to be responsible about these things; use people I trust, use stimulates I knew were not harmful to my well being; the drugs were always something I used purely for recreation. But what happened yesterday was irresponsible…..I confess, with regret that yesterday it went from recreation to need, a line I told myself I never would cross. I not only almost died as a result, but I put you through hell as well. I lied to you; lied about Lestrade, made up an elaborate rouse to get you out of the house, knowing you'd fall for it. And I am…..sorry" At this point he finally looked up at John. "I am sorry that I hurt you by being so selfish and…..senseless."

John was shocked that Sherlock was saying what he was saying. Not only was he apologizing to John, something that he never did to anyone, even John, but he admitted that he had done something…._stupid. _John knew that this had to be incredibly hard for Sherlock. At the same time he was still saddened by his friend's condition; that Sherlock had allowed himself to get mixed up with drugs in the first place, that they held a power over him that they shouldn't have. And that he somehow seemed to think that John was angry or upset at him when really he was just overjoyed that Sherlock was okay.

"Sherlock, don't be so hard on yourself" John said. "I'm not mad at you. Really, I'm not mad at all. I never was."

"Think how you reacted the last time? I was sure you would feel the same this time?" Sherlock said it like a question. It was obvious that since emotions were not Sherlock's forte he didn't really know what John should be feeling but he was doing his best to guess.

"I may have appeared angry the last time, but I wasn't" John said. "I yelled, but I was upset. Upset you do this and harm yourself. Upset at the thought….." John felt his throat getting tight. "Upset at the thought of losing you."

Sherlock looked at John curiously, studying him. He didn't say anything, but it appeared that his face relaxed.

"And you better not put me through this again" John said, coughing back the emotion that gathering in him and sure to not go unnoticed by Sherlock. " If you do, I'll have to kill you"

Sherlock curiosity shone on his face like a child. " John, are you going to cry again?" he asked.

"No" John tried to say strongly, but his voice chose that moment to betray him by cracking. Sherlock smiled, obviously happy by the doctor's show of caring. John punched Sherlock's arm in a brotherly fashion. "Shut up you git" he said.

"You do…..care for me don't you?" Sherlock asked, his smile growing broader.

"I tolerate you" John said, trying to mask his smile but failing.

"You do more than tolerate me" Sherlock said. " You wear your heart on your sleeve, doctor"

"Says the man that asked me to sleep with him last night" John jested. It came out before he thought of it. When he said it, he wished that he hadn't. His face turned red, _how embarrassing! _He thought. Now he couldn't take it away.

But when he looked at Sherlock, he was simply smiling at him; not jestingly, not jeering, but good natured. "Says the man who did" Sherlock said. He looked at John and two men began laughing. When they had recovered their senses, John said, "You must still be high"

"And you're totally sober" Sherlock observed. "What does that say about you?"

John and Sherlock laughed and John was filled with peace. They hadn't done this much laughing in weeks, maybe months. And it felt good.


	9. Chapter 9

John poured his coffee into a travel mug quickly, spilling some as he screwed the top on. When he turned around, Sherlock was already gone. He wasn't surprised but it left him to scramble with his coffee down the stairs at alarming speed. Knowing Sherlock, he'd already he gone if he could get a cab to stop for him quick enough.

John jogged down the stairs and out the door. The day was a beautiful one, the sun shining so bright that it made it worth going out in the bitter cold just to see it. John looked around and saw Sherlock standing on the sidewalk trying to hail a cab, practically jumping into the street to be seen. John ran up to him.

John's stomach gave a loud growl and he said, "Just because you didn't want breakfast doesn't mean that you couldn't have given me five seconds to grab something."

Sherlock ignored him and flagged down a cab. With a look of delight on his face he got into the cab; John felt himself smiling. Though Sherlock had woken him at an ungodly hour and practically pulled him out of bed, not allowing him more than a few minuets to get dressed before running out the door, he was overjoyed at the thought that they were actually on their way to a crime scene. He wasn't sure he should be so excited about a crime, but the smile on Sherlock's face was enough to make him happy about it, even if he shouldn't be. Sherlock sat next to him in the cab, moving excitedly around in his seat and peering out the window with a smile on his face. And it wasn't just any smile, it was a genuine, wide smile. Sherlock was about to be in his element.

It had been about a week since Sherlock had gotten back from the hospital. Much to John's surprise and relief Sherlock had actually taken it pretty easy this week, staying in bed or on the couch most of the time and allowing John to, reluctantly, take care of him. John knew he really must have felt crummy because he had slept a solid 8 or 9 hours every night, sometimes even taking a nap in the daytime. He still didn't want to eat normally but would usually take the food that John coaxed at him. He had sent John out to pick up a supply of obscure books from the bookstore and once John had gotten them for him Sherlock had spent most of his time reading them. John knew he was definitely on the mend, though he still worried slightly when he saw the way Sherlock was charging around the flat as he got ready that morning. He was energized by John could still tell that he moved in a slightly different way as if he still hurt. John knew his worry was wasted as Sherlock probably wasn't even aware now if he was in any pain. No matter how sick or well he was, John would always worry about him in some way.

When the cab stopped at the crime scene, John went to pay the cabbie and when he turned around, Sherlock was already long gone. John could see him walking as quickly as he could towards the crime scene; he wasn't running as that would be undignified, but he was certainly walking as quickly as he could get away with. John chuckled to himself, realizing that Sherlock was going to be just fine.

And then he did what he always did- he followed Sherlock Holmes.

**Well, that's the end of this story :) Thank you so much to all who read and gave me reviews, I hope everyone has enjoyed the story. If you haven't already check out my other current stories, "An Experiment in Sentiment" and " The Secret Life of a Doctor and Detective". I also plan to be posting a new story within a few days called " I'm Coming Undone" which will mostly be Sherlock's perspective of the 3 years after the Reichenbach. Thanks again to all who read and enjoy my ramblings :)**


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